Picture this: a pair of siblings from Sheffield, driven by their father's humble beginnings, are on a mission to introduce authentic Sri Lankan coffee to the UK market, all while paying tribute to their family's heritage and uplifting farmers in their ancestral home. It's a tale of roots, resilience, and a steaming hot cup of inspiration that might just change how you think about your morning brew.
But here's where it gets intriguing: Samantha and Sampath Erabadda aren't just chasing profits; they're reconnecting with a place that shaped their dad's life, turning a childhood memory into a bold business venture.
Samantha, a 41-year-old civil servant, and her 46-year-old brother Sampath, a dentist, hail from Hertfordshire but have made Sheffield their home, along with their parents and an older sister. Growing up, their summers were filled with adventures in Sri Lanka, far different from their own suburban life in the UK. As Samantha recalls, getting to their grandparents' house meant trekking through the jungle, dodging 12-foot pythons and wild pigs – an exhilarating escape that they cherished.
It was during one of these family trips in 2019 that the spark ignited. While visiting the quaint village of Erabadda, where their father Eric grew up, they stumbled upon a coffee tree flourishing in their grandparents' garden. That discovery planted the seed for their enterprise, aimed at sustaining Sri Lankan farmers and offering British coffee lovers a fresh, exotic flavor.
Sampath explains it as a 'lightbulb moment' born from a deep desire to honor the opportunities their father seized and extend them to others. 'We longed to bridge our connection to Sri Lanka, recognizing the chances Dad had, and find a way to reciprocate,' he shares.
Their fascination with Eric's backstory runs deep. One of nine siblings, he endured a six-mile walk to school each day, learning English from a local monk. His birth certificate was simple: just the first name James, with 'unknown' listed as his surname – a detail that embarrassed him at university in Colombo. There, he crafted a series of elaborate Sri Lankan names, like Neketh Padmasiri Kiyanage, and adopted 'Erabadda' as his surname after his village. Later, when he immigrated to the UK in the late 1970s to train as a physiotherapist, pronunciation issues led him to simplify it to 'Eric.'
And this is the part most people miss: Sri Lanka's coffee legacy isn't what it once was. Historically, the island boasted a vibrant coffee industry, but in the 1870s, a devastating fungus called 'coffee rust' wiped out the crops, shifting focus to tea instead. Even today, exporting coffee from Sri Lanka remains uncommon. 'We're not aware of anyone else bringing it to the UK,' Sampath notes.
The siblings dove into research, enlisting Samantha's husband, Samuel Briggs, as a third partner. 'We recognize our privileged positions with stable careers; this isn't driven by financial gain,' Sampath emphasizes. 'The soul of the project is about contributing back to Sri Lanka.'
Their journey involved years of experimentation: countless trips back and forth, collaborating with local farmers, and testing various beans. In the initial phase, they felt utterly out of their element. 'We started with just a vision and a dream, clueless about the execution,' Samantha admits. Initially targeting beans from near Erabadda, they learned coffee thrives best at higher altitudes, around 1,400 meters (about 4,600 feet). This led them to a farm in Kothmale, chosen for its community-supportive ethos.
After six painstaking years, they've invested in the farm, employing a significant portion of the local workforce with fair pay to support families. They've also donated 300,000 young coffee seedlings to neighboring households, enabling them to grow their own crops and sell to Badda Bean – a win-win for sustainability and income.
The thrill peaked when the beans arrived in the UK. Shipped from Colombo to London, then to a Manchester roastery, the process was nerve-wracking. 'Transit could introduce moisture or contaminants, compromising quality,' Sampath worries aloud. Samantha remembers the tasting session vividly: 'What if it was terrible?' she thought. But it exceeded expectations – 'absolutely incredible.' The quality assurance nod brought tears, evoking thoughts of her dad.
Now, they're crafting packaging designs, gearing up to launch their specialty coffee in the UK soon. For 76-year-old retired physiotherapist Eric Erabadda, it's pure joy. 'Watching my kids collaborate has been delightful,' he says. 'Sri Lanka holds our family's heart, and their efforts to aid the country's progress are truly heartwarming.'
But here's where it gets controversial: Is reviving a nearly extinct industry in a foreign market truly 'giving back,' or could it inadvertently compete with local economies? Some might argue that focusing on niche exports like this could distract from broader issues like fair trade in global agriculture. And what about the environmental angle – does promoting coffee from regions hit by pests like coffee rust risk repeating history if not managed sustainably? Do you believe personal stories like this can drive meaningful change in international trade, or is it just a feel-good narrative? Share your perspectives in the comments – agree, disagree, or offer your own take! For more on this inspiring saga, check out highlights from South Yorkshire on BBC Sounds or the latest Look North episode.
